From Love to Death

By Emilia Fitz

This is a story of love at first sight, the story of Emilia and Zbigniew Fitz.

It took place in the real world, full of challenges. Only strong love could endure all that we faced.

I started my memoir with the stories of our parents - how they did not survive World War II. Their stories made a great impact on our personalit

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Penguin Books
• Release date: Jun 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9781637776025

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

BOTTOMLESS PIT

Joseph has been trapped. For the moment, he forgot where he was – he must have been asleep. He was numb with cold. His legs felt stiff, and he was in total darkness, like pitch black. The only thing he remembered was this fear…terrible fear. He was all a-tremble, fluttering. He felt the tightness of space around him. He had been dreadfully cramped. He made a comment in his mind, there’s no room to move much.

He decided to examine this surreal space, not sure yet if it was a nightmare. With his right hand, he touched his forehead covered in cold sweat. His breathing became faster. He fidgeted with his hands blindly, checking out the closest area. He stretched his arms to the right and to the left. It was a space about 4 feet wide. Quickly, he touched something cold, wet and hard like concrete. Another fraction of the seconds, and he knew it was enclosing him like a cage, but in a circle. Now, he knew…. he was in the well…

Coming back to reality, he asked himself, Why is it wet? This well was dry and was covered for a long time. He stretched his hands again and realized it was just a little damp. Just one spot. Probably I spilled some water while sleeping. But I’m cramped in this well, within narrow bonds. But I’m alive, am I? He pinched himself to be sure about his reality.

Yes, I’m alive. I am lucky.

He frowned, wanting to make sure his memory was still intact. Yes, it’s a war time. Germans killing people in masses. Especially Jewish. I am in Poland, in 1944. I came from Cracow, here to this beautiful countryside and became a countryman. My sweet wife brought me here to this village, to her family, to save me. He asked again, why I am cold? I have a feather bed and several blankets. Oh, yeah. I am uncovered. He went deeper under all these coverings. He noticed, this well is deep, so it is warmer here than outside. It's late spring time, but the nights are cold. It must be the night.

Suddenly, he heard voices. It was some distance, but he could hear they spoke German. He was frozen with terror. Stop…. stay still…. don’t move…. don’t make any noise…. don’t open yourself to a death blow. He repeated this over and over without moving his lips. Slowly, voices became more and more distant, farther away from the well until they faded and stopped.

They left! Whew! Ohhhhh! Now my heart is palpitating. Calm down….sh……sh…. slow down…. slow down…. slow…. slow…. breathe. Now he was breathing with relief. He thought, "good people from the village were telling Germans that this well is contaminated with Typhus – it works. Since I’m here (several weeks), none of them approached.

He continued to reason with himself. Why was I born Jewish? Well, you see, it could happen to anybody. But they don’t know that, do they? He smiled tenderly. "But I am lucky. I am married to this beautiful, Polish woman. Since Germans came to this small village, hiding me at the bottom of dry well was her idea. Her family is helping too.

Today must be a cloudy day or full moon – can’t see the difference. The slits on the well’s cover are too narrow. I better hide under the blankets. Here, he could use his small flashlight to take notes in a small notebook. He sighed. Why did the Germans stop here? How long can I stay here? Okay, okay, stop your lamentation – Survive! He murmured, but it’s so black, so pitch black."

Joseph had been trapped in this total darkness without a way out. Opening or closing his eyes didn’t make any difference, but he closed them anyway. He lowered his head. I want to penetrate this black. I want to face it. His only escape now was to descend into himself. He started to talk to himself without moving his lips.

I am descending.

It’s noiseless…

I am going down…down…down.

I don’t see the bottom…

Is it like a well? But it’s longer, narrower. It’s a tube. It goes down. I follow.

It’s all dark, but I know the tube is here. So, I go. Down.

Is it endless? Is it bottomless? Is it boundless? Is it termless?

I am afraid of the black and emptiness, but I have to know. So, I continue my descending. I refuse nothingness. I contradict this notion. I feel. Therefore, I am. I lost the notion of time. Time is not important any more. The essence is. I am.

I don’t know how far I went down, or how long it took until now, but I want to go to the bottom of my being. So, I continue….to go down… and then I had the impression that I am slowing down. Softly.

Something is enveloping me, trespassing me. I am in a small space. I reached the bottom! I feel the presence, something is sleeping there…Peacefully…Lovingly…So, it is not endless. The tube of my being……. or is it? It’s pulsating with security. It’s a consolation.

I have the notion that this silent presence feels like power. It’s within me, but it’s like a second, other me. Independent. It’s something that knows better, works for me, can decide about my healing without me being aware. It’s something that knows what I am and wants me to live forever. Something indestructible. If only I would not stay in a way, in any way, consciously or subconsciously.

It is something I can trust.

It feels good to BE.

I feel safe here. I don’t want to leave and go back to the outside world.

"What is that I feel? It is unattainable, subtle. How do I know it’s real? I just know. There are certain things that you touch by your 3rd eye. Where is it?

Listen to the silence. You will know. I feel there’s more to that. Some poets or painters felt that. I don’t want to go back to life outside of me But something drove me to open my eyes. I am looking up…Seeking…

I am stunned. I see a tiny dot, far up, like a light of hope. And hear a tiny whisper…

Joseph? Joseph.

He saw the light of a flashlight pointing at his face. Sh, he whispered back. He grinned with joy. That was his wife. He never knew when she could visit him. She quickly pulled down the cotton cord with a pail full of non-perishable food and water. The best was dry polish sausage if she could get it. When he emptied the weekly supply, she pulled up as quickly as she could and disappeared. Between the slices of bread, surprise! It was a photograph of their one-year old son. She also gave a note.

"My Love,

Nobody can imagine how I miss you. The tears stick in my throat when I think how hard it must be for you to be in this dark all alone. But each time, when I glance at your son, the certainty comes upon me that everything will be ok. There are rumors that Russians will come and they’ll bring freedom to us. I heard that Americans will help too. Somehow, they manage to start to send the boxes of food, whoever is lucky to get it.

Your son grows healthy. But don’t worry, I used peroxide water on his hair. With his big, almost black eyes and curly gold hair, he is so cute that Germans are stopping often on the streets, all smiling and pinching his cheeks. At first, I froze with horror, motionless, with fear that they would recognize His Jewish face. But no. Joseph, my love, you need to be strong, for us. We need you. Everything will be ok. I can feel it. Kisses from your loving wife."

Joseph was staring at the photo of his son, in silence, and for a long time every day (dark day), with tears in his eyes. He knew he was loved. This gave him all the strength he needed. We never know how much we can take it, surpassing ourselves with suffering, we grow into the beauty of the human race. There’s more in us than we ever could imagine.

I, Emilia, the author of this book, heard the story of Joseph only generally. But I imagined what one could feel being in such a situation, so inhuman, that my imagination couldn’t follow it all. I tried to put myself in his place.

His child survived and grew up beautifully. This miracle child one day crossed my path like a prince from a girl’s dream. He became the love of my life.

Joseph Fitz remained hidden from Germans for several months. He survived and left the well. One year after the end of The Second World War, he died from a heart attack.

CHAPTER 2

ALL TO DUST

My future stepmom, Ann, was born in 1915, (two years before the Revolution of Russia in 1917), near the small town of Gradimir in the idyllic countryside of Russian, which today is Ukraine. Her parents were peasants, making their modest but secure living on a 49-acre farm. In the post-Revolutionary, Communist Russia, they were considered as Kulaks, the rich parasites of society – their future was uncertain. They had five children, and they all participated in everyday life from early ages. They were happy, noisy, with pink cheeks, being in constant excitement about all little things. Ann, the oldest of five siblings, had no idea about living in paradise – she took all for granted without assuming if it all would stay forever.

Bolsheviks are coming, we have to run, hurry, hurry! AAAAAANN…RUUUUUN! That dramatic whisper awoke her. Mother disappeared in the dark of night. She jumped through the window without seeing anything – all she knew was that Gradimir, the small town, was North. She tried to whisper, Mom, Mom, but nobody responded. It was like all family dispersed. In a panic, she ran through the fields faster and faster, until she was slipping, overturned and fell into the ditch. She lost her consciousness.

Early in the morning, Ann awoke shivering and cold. She was in the wet ditch. She came to herself quickly and whispered: Mom…Dad… She jumped out of the ditch and looked to the south, where her house was. In the horizon she noticed smoke going straight up. She shuddered with horror and started to run toward the house. Her heartbeat was rapid.

Is our house burning? Did they burn our house? NO! It cannot be…No…No…Noko! She kept running, the smoke wasn’t too big, and it looked like it got smaller and smaller. But the closer she got, the stronger the smell was.

What is it, this strange smell? Finally, she was almost there and stopped and froze. The feeling of terror came upon her. No more farm. All burned away. All leveled to the ground. All immersed in black. From the ashes, debris stuck out. Black pieces of wood became smoldering ruins. She looked around and saw the trees had become stumps without a trace of leaves or bark, stretched naked in their black nonexistence. From the limbs, tiny chicken bodies were hanging down ossified in black form with beaks wide open in their last scream. Motionless.

Ann felt numb, frozen in a twilight zone where time had stopped. Slowly she turned her head toward the